


S.O.S.

by InkPrincess



Series: Modernity of The Wizarding World [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, F/M, Modern Era, Multi, Other, Video Game: Harry Potter: Wizards Unite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 23:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19840423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkPrincess/pseuds/InkPrincess
Summary: In which a wizard barely three years after her Hogwarts graduation is accidentally wrapped up in a Ministry's battle against magic's exposure to all of Muggle and Non-Magic kind.-----Inspired by the newest Harry Potter game, "Wizards Unite."https://youtu.be/MyZpNZbuEF8





	S.O.S.

"Post!"  
Mr. Rakayat is my alarm clock on the weekends. He always yells, knocks twice, crams the rolled-up paper and sealed envelopes through the mail slot and it drops on top of Baisley. Baisley gets woken up by those papers, or sometimes by a box thud on the other side of the front door, and starts to bark. He doesn't stop barking until I get up and put down a bowl of clean water for him. 

There was a single, silent "pat" in the foyer, and in an instant, my Dalmatian was up and barking his tongue away. My cue was to groan, yell Baisley's name twice and throw my covers off, shoving my bare feet into slippers so I wasn't walking barefoot on the cold floor. It was like a routine, one that I'm perfectly fine with if I'm being honest with myself. It's at least one thing that won't change with the way the world has been running these past few months. "Baisley! Enough!" I pulled my wand from where I had it (also known as the elastic of my underwear under my sweatpants) when I left the double doors of my room, then gave a single flick, and the water bowl moved itself to the sink; the faucet was filling it for me as I poured my coffee. I grab it from the faucet water and set it down once it was full. Baisley finally fell silent and drank from the bowl as I watched the couple in the flat behind mine argue with each other again. There's an ongoing bet between myself and my mates on how long it'll be until they decide to get divorced. I say by the end of the year. 

"Morgan! I know you're home!" I groaned again, almost slamming my mug on the counter. I was quick to rush I to my room and stuff my bra into my tank top before Ryan even made it into the doorway; his black hair was cut down since I had seen him last, and his dark skin was covered by a blue long sleeve shirt. I was surprised that Baisley wasn't barking at his presence. "You know, a doorbell exists. So does the knocker on the door. They're both there." I say with a huff, not caring that he was watching me shove my arm under the bra strap. "Calling ahead would be nice, too." 

"What fun is that?" was what he said, shrugging and dropping his sneakers on the shoe rack. "What's for breakfast?"

"I'm sorry, I'm not your Mum. I'm not cooking for you." I dumped the coffee mug since I lost the ambition to finish it and left it in the sink. 

"Oh, you will," Ryan said, grabbing the post off the counter and opening the front-page story. 

"Oh, really?" I raised an eyebrow. "And why's that?" Ryan counted down from three with his fingers, then pointed down the hall as my front door was opened again. 

"Morgan! Don't be holding out on those pancakes on me now!" 

"I expected that of the American, but not you, Ryan." I retorted. Ryan only laughed, commenting embracing some culture that I didn't care for. I was in the pantry seconds later, trying to dig out my grandmother's recipe box. The last thing I wanted to do was make pancakes, and I lacked the ingredients for it anyway, but I figured cinnamon rolls could tide the boys over until we could at least make it into Diagon Alley. Our blonde mate, Trysten, is due for a new wand and, if I'm lucky, they should be hungry again by eleven-or-so. I swear, it's like having two little children sometimes, and they're both twenty-two years old. But, they like my cooking, so it doesn't bother me too much. 

Trysten threw his jacket on my bed through the French doors before dropping a much thicker stack of post on my counter. "Daily Prophet is in there," says he. "There was a Niffler sighting at an arcade. Muggle's called it a platypus." 

Ryan was quick to chime in. "Not to mention the Sorting Hat showing up on the cover of a Vogue magazine last week." 

"I think I have a copy of that." I pointed down the hallway behind me with a wooden spoon. "Behind the toilet is my magazine rack. The Muggle one." 

"You have a magazine rack for No-Majs?" 

"You never know when I have to have one over." Trysten didn't reply to me as he made his way down the hall, coming back almost a minute later with it in hand. "I gotta say, that does not look like something that would be setting a new trend. As much as I respect that hat, I don't see myself buying it." 

"You think it's opened its mouth to Muggles?" I asked. 

Ryan scoffed. "That hat doesn't speak unless it's in a Sorting Ceremony." 

I stayed quiet as the two went on and on about who knew the Sorting Hat better, pushing now twisted cinnamon rolls in the oven. It didn't exactly make any sense to me how they could be arguing over a singing and talking witch's hat. That hat had sorted me into Gryffindor, and that was final. Ryan, however, was the rare case of a miss-sorted, as he had put it. He was placed in Ravenclaw, but he was not, according to the Head of House. Her name slips me, but she demanded his change, and he got it and became a Gryffindor as well. Trystan has no room to even speak of that hat. He was an Ilvermorny student, and I don't have the slightest clue how they sort, nor do I care, but he said something about a Pukwudgie House that he was placed in. 

They were still going at it, so I slipped into my room and quietly closed my door, sliding the curtains shut before tossing Trystan's coat to the side to fix my covers. With my wand, anyway. I was dressing for a trip to Diagon Alley in the dead of a London fall season. They're calling for rain, too. So, on went my longest capris since my jeans still haven't been laundered, my white cotton socks and a plaid button-up. The sound of rain was already audible on the roof; I hope one of the boys has an umbrella. 

Those two, when I returned from my bedroom with my shoes, mine and Trystan's coat, were still arguing, only it had moved to the topic of how the sorting was done. At that point, I had heard enough. "Alright, stuff your mouths and cut it." I had pulled the cinnamon rolls from the oven and plopped one on each of three plates. The quiet that came was almost a miracle. I had finished first and had my black shoes on, ready to go with my purse. "Did either of you happen to bring an umbrella?" 

Ryan held up his index finger, swallowing the last of his breakfast and taking care of his plate as he spoke. "I did." 

"I've only got my hoodie," Trystan said, slipping on the said jacket. 

"It'll have to do," I say. "I claim sharing the umbrella." 

I heard Ryan laugh, his pureblood smile radiating. Trystan pouted, but flipped his hood up anyway, and helped with locking up the back doors and the windows, while Ryan tended to Baisley's food bowl; they followed me out of the flat, and we were off to the Leaky Cauldron, myself instinctively holding onto Ryan's arm with one hand to keep myself under the umbrella he held between us. The two were discussing Ollivander's now, Ryan giving him "pointers." I kept out of it. There wasn't a complicated system to getting a wand: you go to Ollivander's, you test a wand until you don't utterly destroy his shop with one, and you pay for the right one. Trystan's mother sent the money for it for his birthday last week. Ryan and I agreed to pay for it evenly because Trystan's mother sent American dollars, which isn't even close to what he needs to pay for it, but we don't have the heart to tell him that. And we forgot to get him his birthday present. He didn't notice, but in case he does, we can easily use the payment as an excuse.

It's just a matter of slipping the money back to him somehow that makes it difficult, especially among the public Muggles. Or just the public in general.


End file.
